Silence
by froslassz
Summary: Their history was filled with silence.


_Their history was filled with silence._

* * *

The girl who would one day become Darth Revan lay outside, staring up at the stars. She hadn't been on Dantooine long (apparently, it was the "next step in her training," though she couldn't help but wonder what she could possibly learn on a backwater planet like this.

She was also fairly certain that she wasn't exactly supposed to be outside at this time of night, but her mind continued to race, so she had decided that a distraction was in order. The future Dark Lord of the Sith was distracted from her wandering thoughts by the presence of another; another girl, sturdier in build, _probably training to be a Guardian or Sentinel_, had joined her in the courtyard of the Enclave.

Meetra—for the future Revan knew her as Meetra already, though she did not know how deep their friendship would run, nor the pain that would exist because Meetra would follow her, not into the dark but into the unknown—lay down, offering either a listening ear or comforting presence, because Meetra _felt_, always _felt_, and was spurred to action to correct the pain that sometimes it seemed that only she could feel. The other girl accepted the comfort willingly, not knowing what the bond that they were already forming would cause.

* * *

Revan—for she was Revan already, though she had not formally adopted the mantle of the Sith—dispassionately regarded her former friend. Revan knew that Meetra would end up following orders, as always, and absently wondered how long it would take her to fold this time. Meetra, on the other hand, lacked that calm. Her glare was almost molten, and her stance was defiant. The plans to the Mass Shadow Generator were spread on the table between them, seemingly innocuous. Revan repressed a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose and glancing over to Malak.

Malak, who, as always, was on her side. At that thought, Revan barely kept a smirk from appearing on her face. _It wouldn't do to be smug. Not yet._

Meetra's fury, on the other hand, was building—that her friend would even think about a measure this extreme, would even consider a possiblity that would doubtless result in casualties from their own side as well, would willingly sentence who knew—_she knows of course she knows_—how many soldiers to their deaths—that was something that she honestly could not comprehend. Meetra had understood, at least to a point, the tactical decision that had brought them this far in the war. She even agreed with most of them. But _this_—

Meetra turned and removed herself from the room, knowing that she was in no state of mind to debate her friend.

* * *

There were a few moments after the activation of the Mass Shadow Generator that Meetra—and she was sure those on the other ships, possibly the whole galaxy—stood frozen. An eerie stillness had pervaded her senses for those few moments. A hysterical thought—_please don't work please please please don't work_—sped through her mind, but she _knew_, like she knew that the sky on Dantooine was blue, that it was working.

And then her world exploded. Too many, far too many lives were extinguished in _seconds_, and Meetra staggered under the weight of loss that she always felt after fellow soldiers died, except that this was amplified and seemed to _echo_ in her ears. Meetra grabbed a comm, desperate to hear from someone, anyone, that she knew and could keep her from losing her _mind_—

Meetra couldn't remain conscious for long, death piling up, weighting down her mind; there wasn't even much else that she remembered from those moments, except that there was radio silence from the ships that should have been there—_Revan's ships._

* * *

The woman that was once known as Revan frowned. It had been a long time since she had seen anyone else-this far out in the forests of yet another planet that she found herself wasting her time on, she certainly hadn't been expecting company. However, she had sensed someone following her quite a while ago, and they seemed to be very persistent—she had used every trick she knew (and several that happened instinctually—though some of her memories had returned, sometimes things just _happened_), and her pursuer hadn't been deterred. Finally, the tired wanderer settled down on a slightly-more-comfortable-than-most tree root to wait.

She wasn't left waiting long; the surprise of seeing the face of one of her oldest friends, of a woman she had once sentenced to death, paralyzed her. _Good thing I'm sitting down,_ she thought through the shock-induced haze that clouded her mind briefly.

* * *

They were both bloody, beaten, and exhausted, but they were safe. It was an unfamiliar feeling; after years of fighting beyond the Outer Rim, they had almost forgotten what _safety_ felt like. Nestled in the cockpit of a stolen ship—_it wasn't as if those bloody monsters had any _good _use for it_—however, they had rediscovered the comfort of security.

Of course, a ship alone wouldn't have afforded them the level of comfort they were currently experiencing. No, that was because Meetra had finally been able to convince her idiotic friend to return to known space. They had seen the armies, monsters, and beasts that lingered beyond known space, and Meetra had convinced the former Sith that there really wasn't that much that they alone could do. They _were _formidable, but what could they really do by themselves?

So, they were currently occupying the cockpit of a tiny ship, hurtling through space toward _home._ The silence that filled the space between them was calm, the silence of friends who had said all that needed to be said, and were simply waiting for their future to arrive.


End file.
